


Clear Blue of Morning

by LinguistLove_24



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinguistLove_24/pseuds/LinguistLove_24
Summary: -Set 1980*RE-POST





	Clear Blue of Morning

**Clear Blue of Morning**

 

Tiny infant cries penetrated the fog bestowed upon his brain, rousing him from slumber the louder they became. Blue eyes opened, thick of the sticky discharge clinging to their corners impeding ability to see clearly. Rubbing as much as possible away with the skilful strokes of a few long, nimble fingers, Bill turned his head to the side.

 

 

Hillary was situated on her side next to him, legs covered by the light cotton fabric of her pyjamas tucked closely together, still as a statue. Eyes closed and sleeping like a rock, both hands were entwined and sat comfortably atop fluffy pillow, neatly under cheek.

 

 

Blonde locks were teased through masculine fingers as he drank in her sleeping form, but the actions weren't vigorous enough that they caused her to stir. Beautiful in other ways whilst awake, he saw a kind of peace in slumber that wasn't often present otherwise. Laugh and worry lines faded or decreased, breathing evened out, heart rhythms slowed, became measured and predictable. Never did he enjoy being the one to disturb those moments or take that well deserved peace away from her, and as his child's cries became louder still he wrestled with himself for a moment over whether to attempt to wake her.

 

 

Bill knew that motherhood, even just two months of it, had changed her, saw her feeling more guilt than she should over shutting her eyes for even a single moment. Though she didn't want to miss anything, their daughter needed to see her mother the best possible version of herself on any given day. Knowing he wouldn't be able to lull himself back to sleep, he raised up off the mattress as gently as possible and followed the sounds of complete and utter discontent.

 

 

///

 

Ten after six in the morning. A wall hanging clock in the nursery told him the time he hadn't bother to check a few moments earlier when he'd woken up. He was sure this was only one of many times Chelsea had stirred in the night, was almost positive he'd felt their mattress sway beneath him for shift of weight as his wife had vacated it.

 

 

“You see that?” he questioned softly as he nestled the fragile bundle that was his child into the crook of his arm, carrying her over to the window and lowering himself gingerly down into the rocker next to it. “It's not quite light outside yet. You're up _so_ early.” 

 

 

Wailing had ceased almost as soon as he had lifted her from her crib. He'd checked to be sure she wasn't in need of a change, and as he sat there with her in his arms and marvelled over alert and inquisitive little eyes peering up at him, he couldn't help but think that maybe she'd attempted specifically to wake him, maybe she wanted him there as much as he often felt he needed to be.

 

 

More than once within the last weeks, he'd ventured into her room just to watch her sleep, periodically check that she was still breathing. Parenting was something he'd witnessed coming just the slightest bit more naturally to Hillary than to himself, even if he was becoming more comfortable by the day. Still, each time he picked her up saw him wondering if he might break her, every passing minute she proved inconsolable convincing him of his own ineptitude. Many a dark night had changed to the clear blue of morning, fresh drops of dew dispersing themselves unevenly across the windowpanes before he left the room and set about completing the many tasks that filled his days.

 

 

“You're awake.”

 

 

The statement was soft, but his wife's voice had a rasp to it, throat still coated with the thick of sleep. Startling a touch, Bill regained composure as he cast his gaze toward the doorway.

 

 

“As are you,” he smirked. “Did you sleep okay?”

 

 

“Off and on.” Taking tentative steps closer to where her husband was situated, she reached instinctively for the bundle in his arms. Wordless request was obliged without hesitation. “This pretty little thing was quite hell bent on Mummy staying awake with her for a while.”

 

 

“You can go back to bed if you want to. I don't have anything to do for another couple of hours yet.”

 

 

Gaze flitted between the child in her arms and the man in front of her, love laced within it extended to both in equal measure. Quiet, unhurried moments in the wee hours of the morning were the ones which saw her most fulfilled and sure her heart might burst.

 

 

“I may as well stay up now. I need coffee, though. Do you want some?”

 

 

“Sure.”

 

 

Chelsea was passed back to her father, her mother making her way out of the room to make a fresh pot of what she oft believed to be a life sustaining beverage.

 

 

In the silence that enveloped them, Bill's mind wandered. Not only to the perfection that lay in his arms whose existence he could no longer imagine his own life without, but to all the mistakes he had made. All the dark nights he'd been forced to live through all by himself, the clear blue of mornings which had come with an absence of hope, all of it had led him to the exact moment he found himself situated in.

 

 

“If everything I did wrong led me here to you,” he whispered to his child, “I'd do it all over again.”

 

 

Curious eyes gazed up to him and blinked repeatedly, long, pretty lashes showing themselves each time they closed.

 

 

“There are things in this world that I won't be able to protect you from, pain that I won't be able to take away no matter how much I may want to.

 

“I know you'll make mistakes,” he continued as he pressed his lips to her tiny nose. “Just be sure to make different ones than Daddy did.”

 

 

She let out a coo that seemed a gesture of agreement, and he fought to stifle a laugh.

 

 

“Coffee's ready.”

 

 

Hillary had made her way back from the kitchen, resumed her post in the door jamb, noticed a lone tear making its way down the side of her husband's cheek.

 

 

“What?” she asked with a raised brow. “What's wrong?”

 

 

“Thank you,” he said, hoarseness blanketing his throat.

 

 

“It's just coffee,” she responded, face contorted in confusion. “Took all of five minutes.”

 

 

“No,” he chuckled. “For her.” He looked toward Chelsea, noticed her eyes growing heavier. “For being you. For everything.”

 

 

“Oh Bill,” she said dismissively. “You don't have to thank me.”

 

 

“Yes, Hillary, I absolutely do. I love you.”

 

 

“I know. I love you, too. But I didn't do all the work, she's your child, too.”

 

 

“You did the hard part.”

 

 

“I can't argue with that,” she laughed. “You better come get your coffee while it's still fresh.”

 

 

“I'll be there in a minute. She's almost asleep, I'm gonna put her back down again.”

 

 

Hillary nodded wordlessly, left him to himself for another couple of moments.

 

 

As he leaned over the side of the crib and placed his daughter gently back down into its middle, he saw the beginning of a spring sunrise peeking at him through the window and smiled to himself, sure it would morph into the clear blue of a perfect April morning.

 


End file.
